Fragility
by TacticianZephine
Summary: Lucius Malfoy returns home after over a year in Azkaban, damaged almost beyond repair and having horrible nightmares and visions.
1. Chapter 1

**So, this fic is being severely redone, it was originally one chapter of less than five-hundred words. I'm trying to make it more dark and macabre than it was originally, because I'm into that stuff. Yup.**

**So, R&R, please. I'm keeping the rating at T for now, but the rating is subject to change.**

**DISCLAIMER: Contains homages to Arkham Asylum (the Batman comic), Alice In Wonderland, Pirates of Penzance, Pretty Little Liars and Psycho, and there's a Bible reference. I don't have rights to any of these things, nor do I have rights to Harry Potter.**

* * *

The emaciated form of Lucius Malfoy sat, sickly and weak, huddled in the corner of his cell. It was the farthest from the door, therefore farthest from the dementors.

His home for the past year or so was this six-by-nine-by-five cell with not even a slit in the wall for a window. It was dark, absolutely no light entry. Hell, he couldn't even stand upright.

His months of imprisonment had destroyed the immaculate appearance he'd prided himself on since he was old enough to know better.

Blond hair that had been tied and neatly kept had grown shaggy and matted, his skin had gone from aristocracy-standard pale to sickly and ashen, his chin prickly with unkempt stubble. His graying prisoner's uniform was fraying around the hems, already threadbare in some places. There were even a few holes in the tattered material.

He heard the groans, shouts, yells, and mad ramblings of his fellow prisoners. They were forced to relive terrible memories every time a dementor passed their cells, as was Malfoy himself. It was almost too much to bear.

Some were crying out against their agonized memories, others had lost their minds completely. They recited things they'd heard or read once upon a time, babbled nonsense about their childhood and adolescent tragedies, and some did a strange combination of the two.

_"I _am_ telling you the truth! I didn't do it!"  
"Two can keep a secret if one of them's dead."  
"God help me, I see it! It's here! It's come for me!"  
"'Twas brillig/And the slithy toves/Did gyre and gimbel in the wabe-"  
"No, God, Charity, I swear, I didn't mean to!"  
"-All mimsy were the borogroves/And the mome raths outgrabe!"  
"God, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"  
"No, please, no more, I can't take anymore! Stop it, stop it now! Stop!"  
"I'm not sorry. Filthy Mudbloods deserve to be slaughtered."  
"Father, Father, why have you forsaken me?"  
"I shouldn't be in here at all. There's been a terrible mistake."  
"Oh Heaven, make it stop!"  
"-To rise and forget in the bright sunlight-"  
"I woke from my trance and I saw my daughter's blood on my hands-"  
"Well... a... a boy's best friend is his mother..."  
"I blame Lewis Carroll."  
"I don't know how many times I have to say this-"  
"Faithless woman to decieve me, I who trusted so!"  
"Master, Master, do not leave me!"  
"-And whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense_ _Pinafore!"_

All of them baring their tormented souls, or the little they had left.

News of Dumbledore's death had reached the prisoners in Azkaban; the Dark Lord was in more control than ever. All of the imprisoned Death Eaters would be free any day now.

But that knowledge didn't pull Lucius Malfoy out of his personal hell.

No, he was almost as far gone as those around him. He'd managed to retain some sense of self, enough to still suffer the horrible visions whenever one of the guards drifted past his cell.

And it wasn't only when the dementor passed. It got to the point where every time he shut his eyes, he had to relive the flashes of memory.

One passed at that very moment, lingering in front of the cell. Its rotted-looking hands gripped the bars of the door as it peered in. The ragged, filthy blond man was plunged into a memory from during the First War.

_August, 1980_

_The rain pounds against the windows, thunder crashing overhead and lighting flashing through the space between the drapes, occasionally illuminating the gathering of people all dressed in black._

_The Dark Lord had been in the middle of a sentence, but his scarlet eyes widen, and his pale, thin lips curl over his teeth. He's heard a noise that has gone unheared by the congregation. He flicks his wand. There is a bang, a flash of light, and a small shriek as a body hits the floor upstairs._

_"I thought your wife was sleeping, Malfoy?" the Dark Lord sneers._

_Lucius bows his head, two stray locks of hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at the table. Why had his Master chosen his drawing room to host the meeting? They could've found anywhere else to get out of the rain. "She was, my Lord, I..."_

_"Save your breath. Come down here, woman," the palest calls._

_Footsteps make their way down the stone stairs. The shaking woman stumbles into the room. She's pulled on her black robe over her nightgown, and clutches at it to keep it closed over herself._

_"What were you doing?"_

_Her voice has deserted her. She is terrified._

_"I asked you a question."_

_The woman's mouth works in near-silence but for a few squeaks._

_"Answer me!"_

_She cowers slightly and squeaks. "I... I..." She can't form a sentence._

_Bellatrix laughs loudly. Lucius shoots a glance at his sister-in-law, a pleading glance for her to keep silent._

Please, Bella, don't encourage him. Please, _he pleads silently, as if trying to send a telepathic message to the laughing woman._

_The Dark Lord's eyes narrow into snakelike slits. "Crucio!"_

_The woman curls inward on herself, screaming._

_"No!"_

_Her husband jumps up, only to be restrained by the Lestrange brothers, who grab his arms. He tries to shake them off, but they are too strong for him. They'd been Beaters on the Quidditch team. They have strong arms._

_A noise starts upstairs, a baby crying loudly, woken by the woman's screams._

_The Dark Lord hears the noise, and smiles cruelly._

_"Well, well. Long overdue congratulations to the happy couple," he mocks, flicking his wand. He looks at the woman again. "Is that what you were doing up at this hour, young lady?"_

_"I... was..." she stutters once the curse has been lifted. "Please... I wasn't... I wasn't listening to... to anything..."_

_"That's not what I asked." Another flick of the bone-like wand, and the torture is so great that the woman collapses to her knees, sobbing and screaming. Lucius struggles against the Lestranges again._

_Upstairs, the baby continues to cry._

"Malfoy!" a wizard's voice called sharply. The blond man looked up wildly.

It was Severus Snape.

"Come on, hurry. We've broken the Anti-Apparation charm for a short time, but we can't keep it open forever." He opened the door to the cell and raised an eyebrow at the sight of his oldest living friend. "My God, you're filthy."

He seized the blond man's arm, and the other flinched, trying to pull away from the his touch. Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop that now, Narcissa will kill me herself if you come home Splinched."

**  
They ended up in the heart of a small village. Snape looked around and swore. "I forgot, we can't Apparate directly onto the Manor. But I didn't think the charm would knock us this far off course."

Lucius coughed weakly, and the younger man sighed. "Fine, we'll rest for a minute. We need to get you food anyhow. It's clear you've probably not eaten in a week or more. "

Another weak cough as the black-haired man led his friend to a nearby bench. Snape sighed. "I knew this would happen. Look, you stay here, I'll go get you food." He wandered off.

The blond wizard looked around. They were in the heart of Middle Woodford, it was a decent hour's walk from the gates of Malfoy Manor. The clock tower in the center of the village green chimed ten times. It was ten o'clock at night.

He curled up on his side against the cold. He wasn't used to the fresh air, it was strange to be out in it. It was so... so clean. And the moonlight. God, his eyes were so accustomed to the blackness of his cell that even the moonlight hurt them now.

He shut them. A mistake.

**  
_It is snowing softly. The falling white flakes glimmer in the pale moonlight, standing out sharply against the blackness around me._

_I see a figure, that of a woman, pale and blonde. I can't quite tell from my distance, but it could be Narcissa. She wears a plain silver dress, one that leaves her shoulders bare and hangs only to her knees. She is barefoot. Her hair waves down past her shoulders, to her waist._

_She's a vision of beauty, she absolutely glows. She is walking toward me slowly, but she's becoming clearer through the snow. Yes, it's her._

_I can see her clearly now, she's in my arms. I look into her sapphire blue eyes for only the briefest of moments before I need to blink. When my eyes open, I cannot believe what I see before me._

_My wife, my beautiful Narcissa._

_Dead._

_Mutilated._

_The snow is crimson, her blonde hair stained with the blood. Her throat is torn open, mostly gone. Her face is turned away from me, thank God, because I don't think I could bear to see it._

_There was a time when even the slightest drip of blood would ignite a violent blaze within my mind, unleashing something terrible and filled with bloodlust, whipping me into a vicious frenzy._

_No longer._

_I collapse to my knees beside her and press my face into my hands. God, what had happened? Who was responsib..._

_I look at my hands. Her blood has coated them in ruby splatters._

_Oh God. God, it's me. I've killed her._

_Suddenly, her neck makes a terrible snapping sound as her face turns toward mine. Her mouth hangs slightly open, as it does when she sleeps, and the blood is dripping past her lips._

_The blood is rushing down her cheeks like tears. No, like a crimson river from the spring in her eyes._

_Her eyes..._

_God, she has no eyes..._

_Her hand, with slashed fingers, shoots up and grabs my wrist. Her blood-soaked lips move once, testing their ability to do so, and then I hear her voice emerge from them, even though I know she can no longer speak._

_Her voice is imploring, as if this is her last attempt to plead for her life._

_"Lucius..."_

**  
"Lucius!"

He jerked awake, breathing heavily.

Snape was shaking his shoulder. "Lucius, come on, I could only find a corner cafe open this late, so I have hot chocolate for you. It'll do you some good after dealing with the dementors for so long. And you're freezing, so it'll warm you up."

He accepted the cup gratefully, taking a sip of it. It burned his tongue and scalded a trail down his throat, but it was warm, and it tasted good, and that was all that mattered.

"Don't drink so fast, you'll make yourself sick," the Potions master chastized, as if talking to a child. He went unheeded.

Soon enough, the styrofoam cup from the Muggle cafe was discarded and they set out along the cobblestone street, one sweeping, one staggering.

**  
They eventually made it to the gates of the Manor, and poor Lucius was damn near dead on his feet. Snape kept him standing, and tapped on the gate.

The metal contorted into a face. "Who goes?" the clanging voice said.

"Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy," the black-haired teacher said clearly.

"State your purpose!"

"I'm returning the master of the house to his family," Snape snapped impatiently. The gate swung open, and the two men, one nearly dragging the other, made their way toward the house.

A dark-haired woman spotted them from where she was torturing one of the Manor's resident peacocks. Quite literally too, considering it was on the ground, writhing. "Well, well, lookit this now," she cackled, lifting the Cruciatus Curse. The poor creature didn't have the strength to get up.

"Bellatrix," Snape greeted. "Where's your sister?"

"She's sleeping."

"And why aren't you?"

"I was a little too awake to sleep, you know how it is, I expect." Bellatrix scowled at the sight of her brother-in-law. "Ew, he's filthy. The house-elves'll have a fit, all of them! And when Cissa sees those rags, she'll faint!"

"You're right, Bellatrix, Azkaban robes look much better on you." Snape rolled his eyes and supported the wizard up the front steps.


	2. Chapter 2

**IIIIIIIII need to finish this. -_-"**

**I have chapters four and five hand-written, I just need to type them up and edit them. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Well, R&R anyway.**

* * *

They got into the house, and the quartet of house-elves in the front hall squealed, looking up at the wizards. Ignoring them, Severus led the elder wizard into the drawing room, sitting him down in his chair in front of the fire.

The house-elves followed in their little cluster, and Snape looked at them. "You, tiny male, and you, female, get started on food. Anything will do, so long as it's warm."

Hermes and Zephyr nodded, scattering.

Snape knelt down beside his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Do you think you can at least manage to get to bed on your own?"

The other wizard nodded weakly. He was completely overwhelmed by all of this. His home, his servants... everything. The light from the fire hurt his eyes more than the moonlight did, but the warmth felt good.

"Good. As soon as you finish whatever the elves bring in, you're to shower for as long as you like and then you're to go to bed, do you hear me?"

Another nod from the blond wizard, who tugged at one of the loose threads on the hem of his sleeve. Severus sighed. "I've got to get home, are you sure you'll be alright? Should I wake Narcissa?"

Lucius shook his head quickly.

"Energy's coming back, that's good," Severus murmured to himself. He looked at the elves. "Make sure he eats and goes to bed."

"Yes sir!"

**  
He finished what Zephyr and Hermes brought to him and made his way up the stairs. He started down the hallway, but stopped at a small sound of a house-elf becoming confused.

"Master... the bath is this way?" Dionysus piped up, pointing back down the hallway. The wizard turned and followed the elf, who pushed open the door to the bathroom and snapped its fingers, lighting the miniature chandelier. It then vanished.

Lucius entered the bathroom, looking around. The openess of the room made him uncomfortable, to say the least. It was alien to him. He didn't like this feeling, being a stranger in his own home. Not even the knowledge that his wife was sleeping in the next room made that feeling go away.

He pulled open the shower curtain and turned on the water, completely soaking the sleeve of his accursed prisoner's uniform. He recoiled from the warmth of the water, as it was yet another unfamiliar feeling.

Stepping back, he pulled the robes off as fast as he could, casting the scratchy and threadbare material to the floor. He stared at them for a minute, focusing on them and only them.

Hating them.

Loathing them.

He moved back to the shower, stepping in, closing the curtain and shuddering at the temperature of the water. It was barely steaming, and in another life it might have even been a touch too cold for him, but now it was scalding. He paid it no mind, however, letting the water run over him.

He wiped some out of his eyes and looked around for the soap and such. He quickly found the indentations in the wall where they were kept, and was automatically confused for a couple moments. One side was his, he knew, and the other was his wife's.

Because he highly doubted anything _that_ pink was his, he grabbed for the side closer to himself.

It is logical to think that he might find some comfort in the familiar scent of his soap, but he found none. Balancing the soap in one hand, he groped for a washcloth, and after he found one, the merciless scrubbing began.

**  
He showered for a good two and a half hours, and planned to shower again after a few hours of sleep. He didn't want to sleep, for fear of the nightmares returning, but his poor skin needed a break after being scrubbed raw for so long. He'd passed red and gone to purple with a couple of open spots.

He looked down at the scratchy prison robes. What should he do with them? He didn't even want to think about touching them, surely it was excusable to leave them there?

Lucius pushed the robes away with one toe and took hold of one of the dark green towels on the opposite wall. They were soft against his suffering skin, much softer than anything he'd felt in a long while. An almost alien softness.

He towel-dried, then made an attempt on his hair. It remained damp, but he let it alone, wrapping the towel around his waist and stumbling over to the mirror. He wiped some of the condensation off of the mirror with the side of his fist, staring at his own corpse-like reflection. Even his own face frightened him.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, just so he could try to pretend that the face wouldn't be there when he opened them. A horrible image flashed in front of his eyelids.

_Narcissa's mutilated face. Her body lying in a blanket of bloody snow. Her eyelids blinked once over the empty sockets..._

He forced his eyes open, and found himself becoming violently sick before he could even think about what was happening.

**  
When he finally calmed down, his breathing shallow and his skin clammy, and looked back at his reflection. The vomit in the sink vanished with an absent wave of his hand. He barely noticed.

Lucius coughed, staring at his reflection. He was trembling, badly, but he didn't notice. He shook his head violently to clear it and exited the bathroom.


	3. Chapter 3

**See, I said four and five needed to be typed. Not this one.**

* * *

He walked into the bedroom, biting his lip and glancing toward the bed. Narcissa's sleeping form was visible beneath the blankets.

He passed it, and pulled open the doors to the closet. It took him a minute to get his bearings. Which clothes were his, and which were hers?

There was another miniature chandelier in this room too, and he lit it with a Non-Verbal spell.

He looked around.

The small entry part seemed to be all Narcissa's accessories. Dozens of pairs of shoes and slippers, shelves of bags, scarves, and belts.

It split into two wings in the back, and he went left. It was a small room of its own, but it seemed to be all Narcissa's clothes.

He turned and wandered into the other half of the closet. These were his.

**  
He buttoned up the dark green pajama shirt with shaking hands, his numb fingers slipping on the tiny buttons. It took him about five minutes, because he kept missing buttons.

He made his way out of the closet, the carpet tickling the soles of his feet. He bit the inside of his cheek, and paused beside the bed.

He didn't want to get into it.

Lucius couldn't bring himself to even touch the blankets. Not after the vision on the Green.

He turned away from that bed, looking down at the carpet. He realized for the first time all night that he was shaking, his breathing shallow once more. The silence in the room was defening, almost resounding. He shut his eyes and covered his ears, trying to block it out. All he did was bring on another vision.

_Not Narcissa this time, but Draco. He held the boy's head in one hand, gripping it by the hair and gazing into the face._

_The eyelids had been torn away, but the dead eyes that looked back at the wizard didn't belong to the boy. They weren't mirror images of the steel eyes staing into them, no._

_They were Narcissa's ice blue ones._

_They bulged from the boy's sockets, as if they'd been forced in. His mouth hung open, and his tongue was completely gone_.

His eyes snapped open again, unable to draw breath now.

**  
Five minutes passed before he could, and he turned back to the bed. Narcissa had turned over, her sleeping face almost angelic, peaceful as she dreamed.

He pulled the comforter and sheets back with one shaking hand and climbed carefully into the bed. It felt odd to sleep on a mattress after the cold, stone floor in the Azkaban cell.

He didn't touch the sleeping woman. He couldn't.

He pulled the blankets over himself and chewed the inside of his lip. The warmth was strange to him. All of it was, really. It should have been a return to normalcy, but it could never be. Things were too different. They would always be too different.

He turned his back to his sleeping wife. He couldn't fall asleep himself, not if he wanted to keep the nightmares away. He didn't keep this mindset long, for his body succumbed to the warmth of the comforter.


End file.
